


Twenty Sherlolly Prompts: Blood Impact

by MizJoely



Series: Twenty Sherlolly Prompts [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, Vamp!lock Sherlolly, Vamplock Sherlolly, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2100204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curiosity, it has been said, killed the cat. But how much worse will it be for Victorian housemaid Molly Hooper when her curiosity regarding her employer's curious habits get the better of her? Victorian Vamplock AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Sherlolly Prompts: Blood Impact

**Author's Note:**

> doctor-molly-hooper-holmes said: Congratulations on 1000 followers! I was wondering if you would do a Victorian Sherlolly story? I love your writing!
> 
> And I said: OK, you said Victorian Vamplock was cool and M rating was cool, so here you go, enjoy! (This story was super close to being finished so I just powered through and finished it, and thanks to liathwen for reading it over for me!)

“Please, sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No, Molly, I’m afraid I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Sherlock spoke with true regret as he advanced on the young housemaid whose curiosity – like that of so many others before her – had led her to uncover his secret. It was impossible to keep up the appearance of a humanity that had been stolen from him over a century ago without maintaining a household, which meant servants, which meant the chance of discovery, over and over again.

He truly was sorry that Molly Hooper had turned out to be one of the ones with such curiosity as to his own person, although he appreciated the bright clarity of her mind in general; had her life taken a different turn, she might have become another Marie Curie or Isabella Bird. As it was, she was an orphan who had been trained in nothing more mentally taxing than the proper running of a household and obedience, although the latter clearly hadn’t taken as well as the nuns who’d raised her might have hoped.

She was pressed against the wall now as he loomed over her, fear in her eyes, regret in his own although, with her candle having guttered and spent itself in the breeze raised by the swiftness of his movements, she could not be expected to read his expression. He sincerely hoped she heard it in his words, although he judged her rising terror to eclipse any other emotion, and felt a twinge of guilt that he ruthlessly tamped down. For her own safety and peace of mind, he had to erase her memories of what she’d learned about him, and in order to do that, he had to pierce the sweet flesh of her virgin throat and take in enough of her blood to render her entirely biddable to his will.

His fangs slipped their sheathes before he’d mentally commanded them to do so, a lapse in control he hadn’t had since he’d first been Made by his Vampire Mistress, the long-dead Lady Irene Adler, the Suffolk Vampire Queen. He blamed it on his distraction due to the regret and guilt he was feeling at having to steal Molly’s memories and possibly ruin her life; she was young, a mere eighteen years, and far more intelligent than other girls of her station in life, a hard worker, pretty…

With a snarl of frustration he reached for her; since when did he allow sentiment to cloud the cold reason of his mind? She was all of those things, true, but at the moment he could only see her as a threat that needed to be eliminated. Not killed; he had neither the need nor the desire to kill her for either sustenance or to keep his secret safe, but her memories had to be altered, her will bent to his, and the longer he put off biting her, the more the scent of her fear grew, the harder the pounding of her heart, the more frantic the stream of unheard pleas pouring from her lips…

He grasped her chin with one hand, knowing she could feel the coolness of his flesh against hers, a coolness she’d already felt when she laid her trembling fingers against his throat and felt the absence of his pulse as he lay sleeping. Only the fact that she’d chosen to steal into his sleeping chamber as the sun’s rays slipped beneath the horizon had alerted him to her uninvited presence; he’d heard her gasp of shock and dismay as her fears had been confirmed, and had arisen abruptly in order to prevent her from fleeing while still reeling from her newly-gained knowledge that her master was far more different to other men than she could have possibly imagined.

As he pulled aside her collar and exposed her throat, he murmured one last apology before lowering his head and sinking his fangs into her flesh. 

In that moment, as the hot rush of her blood filled his mouth, his regret melted away at the divine taste of her. It was like no other blood he’d ingested, headier than the finest champagne. He groaned and held her to his body, feeling the burn of arousal coursing through his veins, stirring his prick, hardening it as her arms crept around his body and she cried out in pleasure.

Such a reaction was rare, so rare that he’d never encountered it in four hundred years of undead existence. He knew what it meant, however, and in spite of the euphoria sweeping through his mind and body, felt a twinge of fear as well.

After all, it wasn’t every day a Vampire found the woman destined to become his mate.

oOo

Molly knew it was wrong of her to approach her employer’s private chambers, the set of rooms she was forbidden to enter upon pain of being turned out without a reference, but her curiosity, always her weak point, had entirely consumed her. Curiosity, and a sort of compulsion she was powerless to resist.

Mr. Holmes’ chamber was dark, too dark to see much even in the sullen glow of the small candle stub she carried, the only light she dared bring. Mr. Holmes, she’d been cautioned by both the Housekeeper Mrs. Hudson and the man himself, was a heavy sleeper and was never to be disturbed when in his private chambers. And when Molly’s curiosity had gotten the better of her, she had counted on that first fact to protect her from his awakening to discover her within.

It was astonishing the lengths to which he’d gone to keep the sun’s rays from entering the room; the windows were not only tightly shuttered but also covered with two layers of draperies, both made of some thick, dark material that fell from ceiling to floor and were held together with some sort of metal clasps. She gave herself a silent moment for her eyes to adjust a bit, enough that she could pick out the way to his old-fashioned, curtained bed. With shaking hands she pulled one of the thick velvet coverings aside, to find herself confronted with yet another layer of dark material. Why did he need so much protection from the daylight? She’d wondered that since first arriving in the household eighteen months ago, and now her employer’s odd habits and eccentric hours had finally driven her to this invasion of his privacy.

If she were caught, he would be fully within his rights to turn her out with no reference and only the clothes on her back, but she couldn’t stop herself even if she tried. She found the opening to the second layer of black material – canvas, it felt like to her fingers, so different than the rich velvet of the outer layer – and slowly, carefully pulled it back.

Mr. Holmes was lying in repose on top of the coverlets, fully clothed but for his shoes, waistcoat, cravat and jacket. What caught Molly’s attention, however, was the stillness of his form; after a moment, she realized to her shock that he didn’t appear to be breathing. Without thinking she reached out and pressed her fingers to the pulse that should have been beating strongly beneath his jaw…and felt nothing. Nothing but a coolness to his flesh that bespoke of death; she gave a soft cry of dismay, was about to call for Mrs. Hudson, when his eyes snapped open, blood red and luminescent in the darkness.

He moved with the speed of the wind, his hands holding tightly to her shoulders. Her candle guttered and spent itself, falling soundlessly to the heavily carpeted floor as her back hit the wall. She cried out and attempted to free herself, but his grip was strong, far stronger than any she’d ever felt upon her person; he was as immovable as stone, although his words sounded truly regretful when he told her that he was the one who was sorry as she tried to babble out an apology.

He seemed to be studying her in the darkness, although she couldn’t be entirely certain, as her panic threatened to overwhelm her and the strange light in his eyes had dimmed. Then he was pulling at her collar, popping the buttons loose from the back of her dress, her apron sleeves falling from her shoulders as he exposed her throat and collarbone. She felt his head descending, and a dizzying wave of terror exploded over her as she felt his mouth on her throat, so cool against her warmth…then he was biting her, his teeth sinking into her flesh, and a rush of purest pleasure coursed over her, overwhelming the fear and bringing bliss in its wake.

She barely noticed when his arms encircled her petite form, or when her own arms reached out and pulled him closer to her, but she was fully aware when he pulled his mouth away from her throat and stared down at her, the sulphuric red glow having returned to the normally blue-green orbs. “Molly Hooper,” he said, his voice wondering as he reached up to stroke her cheek in a tender caress. “You are truly a wonder.”

She stared back up at him. “No, I’m a simple chambermaid,” she blurted out, blushing at the sound of his rich, dark chuckle. Then she gasped as he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed he’d so precipitously vacated only moments earlier. She twined her arms round his neck and made no protest, knowing deep within her heart and soul that, no matter how wrong this was supposed to feel, all she wanted in this moment was for him to remove his clothing and her own, and allow her to explore that cool, pale form of his in deepest detail.

He’d not sought her permission to lift her in his arms, but surely he could tell that she would deny him nothing. Some part of her wondered if he were a sorcerer, if she had somehow fallen under a spell or been mesmerized, but the rest of her rejected such fancies. The man who was about to become her lover was indeed a creature out of myths and legends, she’d come to understand that even if she couldn’t yet see the fangs that had pierced her flesh so sweetly, but her mind and thoughts still belonged to herself alone. She was a practical girl at heart; if tomorrow she saw with her own eyes that there were, indeed, fairies at the bottom of the garden, then she would believe in them. For now, all she knew was that Vampires were real and very, very much creatures of the flesh.  
A flesh she dearly wished to explore. All she wanted right now was to join herself to him – Sherlock, she dared call him inside her own mind – and experience the pleasures to be had between a man and a woman. 

“There is a choice to be made here, Molly.” Sherlock’s voice came from the darkness, close enough for her to feel the coolness of his breath against her ear. She nodded, knowing that he could see her in the darkness, and waited for him to continue. “Two paths for us to walk.” She felt his long fingers trailing along her throat and up to her cheek, and shivered again at the touch. “One path leads us in separate directions; I will drink your blood and bid you forget everything you’ve learned today. I will send you to another household, where you will live your life as you have always envisioned it: a servant, perhaps one day wed to another, children, hard work, and eventually the grave.”

“A-and the second choice, the second path?” she whispered, breathless with anticipation. For surely so joyless and mundane a future was not the better of the two!

“Stay with me,” he breathed out, pressing a series of small kisses to her jawline. Molly’s eyes fluttered shut, although of course it made no difference in the utter darkness of the room. “Become my bride, allow me to Make you into one of my kind, remain with me for eternity.”

“Will our souls – my soul – be damned to Hell for this?”

Another one of his rich, dark chuckles from the darkness as his hands caressed her arms. “I’ve no idea. I can safely enter Hallowed Ground, and have attended Church faithfully at Mrs. Hudson’s insistence, although more for the sake of her peace of mind than out of any true concern for my immortal soul,” he added. Feeling Molly’s start of surprise he said, “Oh, yes, my dear housekeeper is very much aware of my…situation. As is Dr. Watson. Both, however, have declined my offers to extend their lives, both claiming to be content with the normal mortal span of years.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was a deep thrum, almost more felt than heard as he said, “I dearly hope you are not of a like mind, Molly Hooper.”

“Not at all, sir,” she replied, screwing her courage to the sticking point and reaching out to lay her hands on his arms. “I am very much minded to take you up on your offer.”

Although it appeared he had no need to breathe, she still heard him suck in his breath, and smiled to herself. Had she surprised him, then, with her rapid acquiescence? She’d certainly surprised herself; normally she was one to weigh her options, to think on a thing until she’d thoroughly examined it from every angle, but in this case she felt no such need. Only a pure rush of certainty that she was making the correct choice.

A slight breeze and movement of the mattress was all the hint she had that Mr. Holmes had removed himself from the bed; then she heard the rustling of the bed curtains being pulled back, and a noise a bit further away but similar in nature that told her he was opening the heavy draperies on the room’s single window.

Although the sun had long since set below the horizon, there was still the faintest of light from the low-hanging moon and few early stars, illuminating the gloom and bringing the shadowy furnishings into sharper focus. The light was obscured for a moment by Mr. Holmes’ tall form, and then he was next to her on the bed at a speed whose rapidity bespoke as much of eagerness as any supernatural influence. “What shall I do, sir?” she asked as he settled next to her again.

In answer he raised her fingers to his lips, kissing the tips of them before lowering her hands to his breast, guiding her to the buttons centered on his shirt. Understanding immediately what he was asking of her, she busied herself in undoing each and every one, then sliding her palms boldly across his bare chest once it was exposed. There was a light dusting of crisp, gingery hair between his dusky nipples, but otherwise his flesh was smooth, ghostly pale, cool to the touch but warming rapidly beneath her fingers.

Molly sighed happily as she undid the cuffs of his shirt. Here she was, with one of her fondest wishes about to be granted – and not just with any man, but with the one she’d half-fallen in love with almost as soon as she became part of his household.

oOo

He hadn’t expected her to agree so readily to his request, if he were being entirely honest with himself. He had never considered himself a lovable man even in his mortal years, and to have found a woman who felt him worthy of her – a woman with whom he’d half-fallen in love from the first time he saw her peering interestedly into his microscope when she was supposed to be merely dusting his study…Fortune was indeed smiling on him today, and he no longer cursed the fact that Miss Molly Hooper had discovered his secret.

Before the night was over, he was resolved to begin the process to which she’d so readily – and with no reservations he could scent or hear or see – agreed. To finally have a companion by his side, someone to whom he could freely give of himself, mind, body and heart…it was a dream he’d long since given up on.

And now Molly was here to resurrect that dream. Her hands on his cool flesh felt positively feverish, and he could see the rosy glow of her skin as she flushed with arousal. Her clothing was considerably more complicated than his own to remove, but he made quick work of it nonetheless. She offered no resistance, no maidenly protestations, simply allowed him to remove the barrier between them, layer by layer, until all was revealed to his approving eyes.

“Mr. Holmes,” Molly said as he raised his hands to caress her breasts. He paused, hands outstretched, then slowly lowered them as she bit her lip and showed signs of sudden distress.

“If you have changed your mind, Miss Hooper,” he said, attempting cool indifference but feeling a surge of bitter disappointment at the thought, “then now is certainly the time to tell me, else I cannot say I would be fully in control of myself.”

“Oh, no! I’ve not!” she hurried to reassure him, reaching out to clasp his hands in hers. “It’s just that…I hope you won’t be…disappointed. That I’m not…pure,” she finished in a near whisper, a new blush staining her cheeks. One of embarrassment this time, rather than passion. “I’ve had a lover, a young man I thought to marry, only once I…let him…he left me.”

She looked and sounded so disconsolate, so shamed, that he couldn’t help but reach out to take her face tenderly in his hands, cradling it as he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Then he was a fool,” he proclaimed. “And I think we both know that I am many things, but I am not a fool.” He peered at her sharply, eyes flickering rapidly over her body, searching for signs… “Unless there is a child as a result of that union?”

A child would be a tie to her mortal life, even if it was being raised by a friend or even the nuns of the orphanage where Molly had spent the bulk of her young life. It would be difficult, for her to take on the mantle of immortality if she felt an emotional bond to a child, he’d seen that time and again.

But no. She was shaking her head, confirming what his eyes had already told him, that her body had never carried a baby within. “No, thank God,” she said with fervent sincerity. “But…since you’ve raised the topic, sir…is that something we will ever be forced to confront ourselves?”

His opinion of her jumped to new heights as he realized, in her circumspect manner, that Molly was letting him know that she’d be perfectly happy if she never became a mother. Which suited him quite well, as he had never harbored any ambition toward becoming a father. “No,” he replied. “I am incapable of fathering a child, and once I’ve made you like myself, there will be no possibility of you becoming pregnant.”

Relief blossomed in her eyes, and she grinned widely as she threw herself into his arms. “Then please, sir, do make love to me!” she exclaimed.

It was with a great deal of enthusiasm that he responded to her request, pressing her back against the coverlet and bringing his lips to hers for a lingering kiss. There was no difficulty in coaxing her mouth open beneath his, although she gasped a bit as he slid his tongue between her lips. Her breathy moans as he gently guided her into a deeper, more intense kiss made him long for his own breathing days, for the chance to mingle their breaths together, but he banished such thoughts from his mind. He would not mourn what he no longer had, but would instead celebrate what he had this very night gained.

The touch of her little hand on his waist caught his attention; he pulled back from their kiss to see her eyes dancing with merriment, her bottom lip caught up between her teeth as she giggled. “You seemed to have vanished somewhere inside yourself, Mr. Holmes,” Molly said, her fingers moving gently yet inexorably downward, drifting to the apex of his legs and torso and the turgid flesh resting there. “I do hope you don’t find it too forward of me if I wish to draw your attention back to my simple self.”

There was something in her teasing tone, a slight note that told him she was trying to hide her worries that she was not properly able to keep his attention; he set himself to removing that fear by covering as much of her sweet, warm body as he could in kisses and playful nips, being careful not to so much as prick her flesh with his fangs. Not until it was time for him to drink in her blood, for her to take in some of his own and begin the process of transforming her would he allow himself that luxury again. “My apologies, Miss Hooper,” he said, being sure to lower his voice into a velvety purr. “And perhaps we could dispense with the formalities, under the circumstances? Do call me Sherlock, and I shall call you Molly. My Molly,” he added in deepest satisfaction.

She hesitated a moment before speaking. “Sherlock,” she replied, the sound of his name falling sweetly from her lips.

It was very difficult for him to keep from lunging at her throat, from beginning the process of transforming her before they’d taken their pleasure of one another, but held himself back. The pain of that transformation, he was determined, would be mitigated by memories of the pleasure he was determined to bestow upon her. He would permit himself the singular luxury of tasting her in a very different way, one he doubted her previous lover had attempted; the lout hardly seemed the type to concern himself with his partner’s satisfaction, from what Molly had said of him so far. She seemed uncertain of his intentions as he moved sinuously down her unclothed form, sighing and shifting beneath his questing mouth until he gently inserted himself between her legs and bent his head to her sex.

oOo

Molly gasped as she felt Mr. Holmes’ – Sherlock’s – lush mouth press itself against her female center, his tongue delving between her folds to taste the growing moisture that had begun to seep from her body. She recognized the physical signs of her desire from her brief moments spent in her former fiancé’s arms once he’d coaxed her into surrendering her innocence to him, but somehow she felt that Sherlock would bring far more enjoyment to her than Thomas ever had.

And so it was proven; within minutes Molly found herself gasping and writhing, feeling a coiling intensity growing deep within her belly, soon exploding outward to encompass her entire being. She flushed hot and then cold and then hot again, her heart racing deep within her chest, her breathing labored, and a high, thin wail tearing itself from her throat. She’d explored her own body a time or two when she was younger, attempting to see if the taboo actions might bring some relief after waking from dreams that left her confused and longing for something she’d never had, but the hesitant movements of her own fingers against her body had accomplished nothing compared to Sherlock’s mouth.

She was still floating in the pleasurable daze he’d invoked when she felt him moving up to cover her form with his own, his lips nuzzling at her throat but not biting. “May I?” he murmured, sliding the tips of his fingers against the part of her body he’d just been tasting…fingers, and something much larger. She opened her legs and gasped out, “Oh, yes, please!” and gasped again as she felt him sliding himself within her body.

He encouraged her to move with him, grasping her left thigh with his hand, changing the angle of their bodies and deepening his thrusts. She was shocked to feel the rising tension in her body; surely it was impossible for a woman to feel so much pleasure at one time when giving herself over to a man! But no, Sherlock was no mere man; he was a Vampire, surely it was some side effect of his unnatural state that brought her such joy? The nuns had sternly spoken of a woman’s duty to either give herself to God or to marry and bear children, neither of which had appealed to Molly. Marriage, perhaps, although Thomas’ desertion of her had certainly soured her opinion of that supposedly exalted state. Sherlock had said nothing of marriage, but perhaps it wasn’t something Vampires did?

Then he moved his hips with a slight rotation to them and the rising tension in her body tipped her over the edge once again, causing her to cry out his name in elation and wonder. With a growl he soon spilled himself inside her, body tautening and his fangs virtually erupting over his lower lip.

She sucked in a startled breath at the sight of them, white and pointed and tinged very lightly red from when he’d bitten her before; when he caught her looking at them, he lifted his lips in a deliberate smile, then moved downward and rested those wicked points against the rapidly beating pulse in the base of her throat. “Are you ready for me, my Molly?” he rasped.

“Yes,” she choked out, hands gripping his shoulders in anticipation of pain. He looked so feral, so very dark and dangerous that she felt a moment’s reservation; had she made the correct choice? Then his fangs had sunk themselves deep in her throat and there was pain but it was quickly overridden with pleasure and she knew that yes, she had, indeed, made the only choice she could have.

Whatever the future brought, she was at peace with that decision, and with the man – Vampire – she’d pledged that future to.


End file.
